


Try A Little Tenderness

by swilmarillion



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-31
Updated: 2019-01-31
Packaged: 2019-10-20 02:18:18
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,737
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17613575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/swilmarillion/pseuds/swilmarillion
Summary: Caranthir speaks his mind, when he thinks Finrod is asleep.(spoiler alert: he isn't)





	Try A Little Tenderness

**Author's Note:**

  * For [red_lasbelin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/red_lasbelin/gifts).



                “It’s funny,” Caranthir whispered into the dark, though there was not real mirth in his words.  He shifted slightly, pushing himself up and onto his elbow.  “All these years I’ve wanted to be here—here, with you, in your bed—and yet…”He looked over at Finrod, sleeping beside him, his back to Caranthir.  “I thought it would feel different,” he said, frowning at the words as they left his lips, knowing they weren’t quite right. 

                “Perhaps,” he said, speaking his thoughts to his sleeping cousin’s back, “it’s because I know you never wanted me.” He traced the outline of Finrod’s body with his eyes, lingering for a moment on the rhythmic rise and fall of his chest.  “I’m not sure you do now, either—not really.”  He reached out and stroked his cousin’s golden hair, luminous in the darkness, his touch gentle against the silken strands.  “It’s okay,” he murmured, though it wasn’t, though it hurt to say.  “No one ever did.”

                He twisted a long, golden curl around the length of his index finger.  His head was swimming a little, and he closed his eyes, taking a deep breath to steady himself.  He had drunk too much at dinner, and though he cursed himself for the unaccustomed lack of restraint, he was nevertheless a little glad of it.  Drunkenness was a fine excuse for the ache of loneliness in his chest, the stab of longing he felt when he looked at Finrod. 

                It was a good pretext, too, for the words that slipped unwanted from his lips, the long-harbored grudges given voice in the stillness.

                “It’s okay,” he said again, as much to himself as to the room at large, willing himself to mean it.  “I’ve always been second choice, if I’m lucky, or third, or fourth.  I’ve grown used to it by now.  I was never the diplomat that Nelyo is, and I can’t sing like Kano.  People always liked Tyelko for his brashness and Curvo for—well, to be fair, I’m not sure most people _like_ Curvo so much as they…”He shook his head, letting the words die on his tongue and running a hand through the messy fall of his dark hair.  He took a breath and let it out in a sigh.

                “I didn’t mean that about Curvo,” he murmured after a moment.  He wasn’t sure why he said it; he wasn’t sure why he said any of it, save that it was late and he was drunk.  Old hurts always seemed to come to light in the pre-dawn hours, when the world was quiet and his mind was loud.  “It’s just that it gets…”He paused, running a hand through the dark tangle of his hair, gathering his scattered thoughts.  “Old, I suppose.  Tiresome, maybe.  Never being quite good enough, never exactly the one anyone wanted.  Not that you would understand.”  He gave a short, bitter bark of hiccupping laughter and clapped his hand over his mouth, heart beating hard in his chest.  He was sure the sound would waken his cousin, but Finrod didn’t stir, and the even cadence of his breath neither faltered nor quickened. 

                For a moment, Caranthir was silent, watching the steady rise and fall of Finrod’s chest, brooding on the absurdity of the whole situation.  He knew it was ridiculous, lying there half-drunk in the dark, pouring out irrational resentments he would never have dared speak in the sober light of day.  Still, he couldn’t help but feel a bit of relief, cool and welcome, in the airing of wounds long kept in the dark.  He looked at Finrod and felt a thrill of pleasure at the sight of him.  He lay the back of his hand against the cool skin of Finrod’s neck, feeling the throb of his pulse, and then let his fingers fall once more to the golden spill of curls on the blankets, unruly and beautiful and perfect.  He twined his fingers into the strands and smiled, despite himself. 

                “I love you, you know,” he said softly, when the silence had grown too loud in his ears and the ache too great in his heart.  He hadn’t meant to say it— _which seems to be a theme this evening_ , said a voice in the back of his mind reproachfully.  He wanted to say more, and wished he had said less.  He sighed, resolving at last to stop making a fool of himself and go to sleep.

                “You’re wrong, you know,” said Finrod softly, and though the words were spoken quietly, murmured softly in the dark, they startled Caranthir, who had believed Finrod to be asleep.  Caranthir’s fingers stilled, his heart beating hard against his ribs, and he waited, afraid of what Finrod might say.  Finrod rolled over to face him, and Caranthir felt the weight of all he had spoken, the shame of it hot in his belly.  He looked down to where his fingers still lay in the spill of Finrod’s hair, unwilling to meet his cousin’s eyes. 

                “How long have you been listening?” he asked softly, though he wasn’t sure he wanted to hear the answer.

                “Long enough,” said Finrod, the words stinging despite the gentleness of the tone.

                “I’ve had too much wine,” Caranthir said, wincing at the gruffness of his own voice, grimacing at the embarrassment of it all. 

                “Perhaps,” said Finrod, judicious to a fault.  “But drunk or not, you’re still wrong.”

                “I don’t doubt it,” Caranthir said, praying Finrod would spare him any further exposition on the subject.

                For a moment, it seemed as though Finrod would.  He was silent, eyes searching Caranthir’s face, though Caranthir still stubbornly avoided the gaze.  “Your brothers cast a long shadow,” Finrod said at last, gentleness and gravity at war in his tone.  “You aren’t the only one who feels he cannot escape it.”

                Caranthir looked up at last, suspicious, wary of being mocked, but Finrod’s face was earnest.  There was no trace of mockery, no hint of derision.  An ache bloomed in Caranthir’s chest that he could not entirely explain. 

                “You could never be hidden in anyone’s shadow,” Caranthir said, resisting the urge to touch the beautiful face that looked up at him.

                “The way things are,” Finrod said, “and the way we feel them to be are rarely one and the same.”  Caranthir looked down once more, away from the earnest understanding in Finrod’s gaze.  Finrod shifted closer to him, reaching out to brush the dark hair back from Caranthir’s face.  “I’ve never been as resilient as Nelyo or as brave as Fingon or as terrifying as Artanis.  You aren’t the only one to feel as though he doesn’t measure up.”

                “You are everything they are and more,” Caranthir said, and he meant it.

                “And you,” Finrod said, taking Caranthir’s hand and kissing it, “are not the sole proprietor of unrequited love.”

                Caranthir snorted.  “Please,” he said, turning his face away from Finrod.  “As though anyone could know you and _not_ love you.”

                Finrod laughed, and the sound was merry and light and tugged at Caranthir’s heart in a way that made his chest ache.   “Many have loved me,” said Finrod, stroking his thumb over the sharp ridge of Caranthir’s cheekbone, “and I have liked some of them well enough.  But they have always been my second choice, if I was lucky, or third, or fourth…”

                “Don’t tease,” Caranthir said, more embarrassed than aggrieved.

                “I’m sorry,” Finrod said, smiling the brilliant smile that never failed to make Caranthir love him.  “I don’t mean to tease.”  Caranthir gave him a look, and Finrod’s smile widened.  “Well,” he relented, all good-natured mischief.  “Maybe a little.”

                “I find it hard to believe,” said Caranthir, glowering at him in mock-reproach, “that someone like you could ever not have his first choice of lover.”

                “I haven’t _yet_ ,” Finrod corrected, running his fingertips down the length of Caranthir’s throat and pressing his palm to Caranthir’s chest.  “Though I have a feeling I can remedy the situation tonight.”  He looked up at Caranthir through long, fine eyelashes, eyes fixed earnestly on Caranthir’s face.  “If you’ll let me.”

                It took a moment for the meaning of his words to sink in.  “Me?” Caranthir said, taken aback, and Finrod smiled.  “But you—I didn’t,” he sputtered, flushed with happiness and disbelief.  “You never said,” he managed at last, looking at Finrod, hardly daring to believe it could be true.

                “Neither did you,” said Finrod.

                Caranthir didn’t give him the satisfaction of a reply.  Instead, he kissed him, and Finrod, taken aback, sprawled onto his back.  He pulled Caranthir down with him, and Caranthir let himself be pulled, reveling in the feel of Finrod’s fingers in his hair, the taste of his lips against his own.

                “Did you mean it?” Caranthir asked, turning his head to kiss the soft skin of Finrod’s neck. 

                “Which part?” Finrod murmured, arching into Caranthir’s touch.

                Caranthir ran a hand up Finrod’s chest and kissed the hollow of his throat.  “You know which part.”

                “That our collective family unit sets a hard example to live up to?” Finrod said. 

                “Not that one,” Caranthir said, running his fingertips down the bare skin of Finrod’s chest.

                “Mmm,” Finrod murmured happily.  “That many have loved me?  Because I should have thought that one was obvious.”

                Caranthir pinched him gently, and Finrod laughed and kissed his cheek.  “If you mean,” he said, tenderly smoothing the hair back from Caranthir’s ruddy face, “the part where I admitted to pining after you for far too many years, then yes, I meant that.  I meant it very sincerely.”  He took Caranthir’s face in his hands, stroking his thumbs lovingly over Caranthir’s cheeks and smiling at him.  Caranthir felt an ache in his chest, much sweeter than the ache of loneliness that had plagued him before.  He leaned forward and kissed Finrod, shivering as Finrod parted his lips and kissed him back.

                “The other part,” Finrod whispered, turning his head to press his lips to Caranthir’s ear, “about finally having my way with you after years of waiting?”  His voice fell to a murmur, and his hand trailed down Caranthir’s chest, skated across his hips and down his thigh.  “I meant that too.”

                “If I’ll let you,” Caranthir said, trying to tease, though the effect was somewhat ruined as he shivered, arching into Finrod’s touch.

                “Will you?” Finrod asked, grinning mischievously.

                “Yes,” Caranthir said, kissing him, and he did.

 


End file.
